


Fire in the Cold

by Entropy_Empathy



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Korriban (Star Wars), Mission Fic, Planet Manaan (Star Wars), Selkath (Star Wars), Wookiees (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 00:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropy_Empathy/pseuds/Entropy_Empathy
Summary: There's only so much you can do when a Republic Commando and a Sith Lord join forces to drown you while a cyborg experiment fish-man tries to kill you. When your pickup group are a couple of Wookiees who don't trust each other and an armless legless protocol droid, your luck better be beyond good.Hers actually is.





	Fire in the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).

**Prologue: Korriban**

“Come on, ya big furry oaf!” The Captain grabbed Bowdaar’s enormous paw and dragged him behind the pillar where she'd been lurking to pick and choose her targets as their attention waned, distracted by multi-hued blaster fire and billowing clouds of debris. “We’re not doin’ a lick of good, chargin’ ahead of the rest of the cavalry. We’re here as tactical support, I don’t care what fool notion that SIS agent put in your head,” she hissed close to the Wookiee’s ear.

Soft barks of disagreement slowly turned into a growl of assent. Bowdaar continued trying to cover the troopers flowing up the stone steps; crimson, the color of rust, same as everything else on this miserable excuse for a planet. If this was where the bulk of the Sith came from, no wonder they were so full of piss and vinegar. It was hot -- really, really hot -- and dusty, and full of wildlife more apt to spit acid on you than run away in fear.

And the whole place smelled like it should be packed with mothballs and stuffed in that rusty cargo hold; the one with the door that always jammed, that everyone agreed should only be opened in case of never, to be completely forgotten about until never happened.

“You guys have any idea how to punch a hole through that line, or should we all just go home?” Theron asked tersely, setting the inside of the Captain’s ear buzzing.

“We’re workin’ on it,” she snapped, lining up a shot with the back of an unwary Sith, and pulling her head back a fraction of an instant before that same bolt redirected itself into her face. “Stars, that was close.”

Bowdaar braced his bowcaster between his thighs as he grabbed the Captain’s face, turning it this way and that before grunting a gruff reassurance and returning to the firefight.

“Thanks, big guy, I love you too,” she murmured, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“I thought you were supposed to be sneaky,” Theron taunted.

“I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” the Captain retorted. Wait, were they clustering up in that far corner? A retreat? Something she could exploit at the very least. “Sorry, busy right now. Can’t chat,” she hissed into the com. She flailed her hand towards the Wookiee to get his attention. “Bowdaar, slide me your bandolier. The one with the frags.”

He grumbled something she didn’t quite catch -- something about this being his favorite, but she wasn’t paying attention. “Fire over there, you see? That balcony support. It’ll make a big boom.” She waited while the high-powered bolts made quick work of the support, and the overhang cracked away from the wall, crushing several Imps who’d been using it for cover.

And there it was, the cascade of tumbling rock and duracrete as more and more of the upper walkway crashed to the floor below. The Captain checked the bandolier, the grenades and her aim one last time before thumbing the detonator and letting the belt fly. It was a brilliant plan, the perfect plan to clean out that nest of Sith. Or, it could have been, if she hadn’t slipped on the dirt and rubble, losing her footing and landing on her butt, right there, out in the open, like a nerf on slaughter day.

A blur of red flashed over her head, wickering through the air in a terminal arc as it hissed and sputtered, reseating itself in the Sith’s hands. “Bastard just threw his sword at me,” the Captain muttered to herself, searching for where the bandolier landed. If at first you don’t succeed, try until the timer goes off, but it wouldn’t work now. There was the belt, but the clasp had snapped, scattering its shiny array of booming-baubles all across the foyer’s floor. And the one that was primed had rolled to the far end of the room, where the Imps were wheeling up…

“RUN,” the Captain screamed, grabbing her Wookiee by his remaining bandolier, seemingly heedless of the layers of crisscrossing blaster fire. She leapt over the heads of the perplexed acolytes, whose random lightsaber swipes did nothing more than shear intricately lined relief into Bowdaar’s fur as the loud, frothing, flailing beast bowled through them.

The explosion was deafening in the confined space; one loud boom, followed by smaller, more erratic cacophony as the scattered fragment grenades bloomed from the heat, nearly collapsing the entryway.

The Captain choked and coughed, finally relaxing her hold on Bowdaar’s belt as his paws smacked at her hand. She was much stronger than she looked.

“Everyone okay? Hello? Captain?”

She wiped grit out of her eyes, and squinted, trying to see in the flickering emergency lighting. “Think we’re all in one piece, Risha. Thanks for askin’.”

“What the heck happened? Half the building just disappeared,” Theron observed. She couldn’t tell if he was cross or impressed. Probably both.

“Someone threw a grenade into the turbo-laser they were wheelin’ into a sniper’s nest. Whole room went up.”

“What idiot would throw a grenade into their own troops?!”

The Captain leveled a stare at the Wookiee. “Was pretty hard to see with everybody firin’ at one another. Lucky we made it through.” She coughed again. “Was anyone on our side flattened?”

“No, thankfully. They pulled back to the steps, but it’s going to take some time to dig you out.” Theron’s voice wasn’t nearly as grating when he wasn’t being bitchy, she decided.

“Hey, take your time. Not like we’re goin’ anywhere.”

“You should be going up, Captain,” Risha reminded them, and the Captain was sorely tempted to growl. Kriffing Risha, always stepping on her best one-liners. “That’s where our intel places the Dark Council.”

“By myself, Risha?”

“There are worse ways to make a statement, but I doubt it will come to that. You’ll figure something out. You always do.” A smarmy answer from a smarmy woman. Lotta thistle with that concern.

**Interlude: Lana**

Lana Beniko. Lord-but-not-Lord of the Sith. Prodigy. A minor prodigy, perhaps -- there were those honed with greater skill, better, faster, stronger, whose fluidity with the saber far surpassed her own, both in the years preceding and after her graduation from Korriban -- but none with greater affinity with the Force. She could mold its shape and hold that form far longer than her contemporaries; they could adapt to one another. And the Force spoke to her. Or rather, they conversed, as one might to an old, genuine friend, and she took the time to listen to what it had to say.

Lana’s eyebrows drew together, listening to the whispers amidst her self-reflective trance. She saw a beast of coiling shadows and seething emerald eyes chained to a rigid intelligence, not so far removed from the tales of antiquity she’d indulged in prior to visiting the water-world, when mariners on Manaan would lash themselves to radiation sails for safe-keeping during the harsh and unpredictable storms. The vision was less clear on who was lashed to whom. It also provided a moment's surprise when Lana realized the linear personality was that of a droid. Truly fascinating that the dark side had so symbiotically formed a relationship with --

Speculation for another time. “Agent Shan,” she murmured, maintaining her closed-eyed vigil just over the seated agent’s shoulder.

The man flicked his eyes upward and behind -- she sensed the tiniest flare of growing disquiet before the sheet of solitude ruffled closed, blocking Lana from further curiosity. “Just …Theron.”

One of her pale eyebrows quirked, though she didn’t bother opening her eyes. “You’d prefer Theron then?” She let the mild amusement creep into her tone.

The man returned to his surveillance, keeping track of their “agent in the field”, some smuggler or other he’d brought in to confirm or allay his suspicions. “On second thought, Agent Shan works fine.”

“Your companion--”

“Asset,” he corrected.

“Will soon encounter a pair of captive hostages,” Lana continued. “I believe we would do well to recruit them.”

Theron snorted. “Hostages, huh?” He quickly sliced into the detention center database and scanned it. “Who, these two? More like prisoners,” he murmured under his breath. “Popular pair. Looks like a lot of people want to get their hands on them. Cartel, Hutts, Syndicate. Death marks from both our sides.”

“Hmm,” Lana agreed. The details were meaningless, of course; the Force whispered their importance, and that was all that mattered. These two would be useful, either to her personally, or the Empire’s interests; she would do what was necessary to ensure their inclusion. “I’m sure your asset’s record is equally colorful.”

Theron thought over all the good the Republic’s privateer had accomplished; taking down the Voidlord had been a major feather in their collective caps, but some of the stops getting there had been overwhelmingly self-serving. “A few things that might not be considered above board.”

The pair lapsed into a sort of quietude between them, and Lana let her mind drift, listening to the antics of the smuggler, her animalistic bodyguard and the random chatter passed between the pair and the crew that had remained behind in the smuggler’s ship.

“Very colorful,” Lana amended, listening to the chair protest as the SIS agent sat back in aggravation. Fabric shifted; Lana imagined he’d just crossed his arms.

“They were banned from Onderon. How do you get banned from an entire world?” Theron wondered aloud.

“Has Onderon gotten any calmer since the civil war?”

Theron briefly flicked the volume down on the console -- the Captain and her crew were having a screaming match over time better spent; the Captain wanted to make time to hijack several flats of kolto canisters, a score worth tens of millions, but more importantly, ‘would keep the medbay flush for forever’, and the rest of her crew were pointing out the idiocy of moving a large, heavy shipment through a facility crawling with Selkath trying to kill you. “Huh, not likely. Place is full of cutthroats and war criminals, last time I checked.” 

“Mercenaries,” Lana corrected.

“Whatever. Point is, how do you get kicked out of a place like that?”

The obvious answer, with a great deal of skill -- such a place, ruled by what in all accounts was the lowest common denominator, would be far more likely to carry out a death sentence than provide transport off-planet and a sternly worded ‘don’t come back’ -- seemed both obvious and impractical to the conversation, so she remained silent.

Theron tried a different tack. “One of them’s a Wookiee, you know.”

“A Republic species,” Lana remarked, letting a lilt of curiosity color her tone.

“Uh huh. Not sure why you’d want him on the team. Wookiees aren’t known for their sympathy towards the Imperial war machine. How many times have the Sith invaded Kashyyyk?” Theron sounded amused.

How many times has the Republic, Lana thought to herself, a slow, curling anger unfolding in her midsection, her fingertips tingling with potential energy. However tempting the urge to choke the smug off the SIS agent’s face, it would be pointless to squander her emotions on such tepid bait, and so she focused it inward, on her connection to the Force.

**Flashpoint: Manaan**

“Whoa there, that’s something new. When was the last time you saw a Wookiee in a cell, Bowdaar?” The Captain stopped and thought about what’d just popped out of her mouth and had a moment of infinite chagrin. “I meant like, in a secret laboratory, way at the bottom of the ocean, and you know, us bein’ here,” she continued floundering in the sinking morass of insensitive conversation, waiting to see if her companion would throw her a life-line, but his stern glance reminded her why silence was golden. She cleared her throat. “Forget I said anythin’. Sorry, buddy.”

Bowdaar rumbled his assent to forgetting, and watched the “caged”, pacing Wookiee warily. The Wookiee returned his scrutiny with equal, if not amplified, animosity.

“Guess we should see about gettin’ you out,” the Captain stated, turning to scan the row of control terminals, and taking a few steps in their direction before Bowdaar grabbed her shoulder, holding her in place. She turned in his direction, surprised, but Bowdaar wasn’t looking at her. His eyes hadn’t left the other Wookiee.

“You.. think we should get to know each other first. Okay.” She heard the caged Wookiee mutter something to himself, but only caught ‘saps’ and ‘let us out’.

“Greetings! My master compliments your impressive skill, and would like to share his appreciation for this noble rescue,” the droid head attached to the incarcerated Wookiee introduced in gratingly chipper tones.

“Ahh!” The Captain flinched in surprise. “That thing’s still functional? How? It’s in pieces!” She waved her hands. “Nevermind, first things first -- that’s not what he said, and you’re a terrible interpreter. Wasn’t a word of appreciation in there.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken! Shyriiwook is a complex language and I’ve been programmed to understand the subtleties--”

“Sorry,” the Captain shook her head, jerking a thumb in Bowdaar’s direction, “not the first Wookiee I’ve met. Try again.”

“Oh dear,” the droid exclaimed. “Please let us out of here? We beg you!”

The caged Wookiee howled an angry retort and an even angrier demand for release. “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it,” the Captain grumbled under her breath. Bowdaar’s fingers tightened their hold on her shoulder as he barked a challenge, which was answered and returned at an even higher volume. The two Wookiees exchanged savage growls, and the Captain felt a moment’s panic -- she could actually see the fur bristling on each of them as Bowdaar kept her firmly in place and the caged Wookiee began pacing once more, gesturing wildly with one enormous, hairy fist.

“Hey! Hey… let’s take this down a notch, big fella. Kinda putting a cramp in my shoulder there.” She was immensely relieved when Bowdaar’s hold slackened a bit, wincing and rolling her shoulder. “What’s the problem?” Bowdaar barked and chuffed softly. “I can see your point, and it’s duly noted you don’t trust each other. At all.”

“Perhaps if we had proper introductions. My esteemed master Jakarro is a specialist in discreet cargo delivery. I am his translator, C2-D4, former servant of her eminence, Queen Lina of--”

“You pipe down there droid, and let me think. Why would the two of you be here,” she mused aloud.

“We were delivering cargo, perfectly legal,” the droid began, but the Captain wasn’t paying attention.

She snapped her fingers and pointed at the Wookiee and his droid. “So you were smuggling something into the lab and they- Wait, was it one of them red, sithy fellows and a windbag in Republic armor that hired you?” The Wookiee nodded slowly, and she continued, speaking excitedly, “Ha! And when you got here they stiffed you and stuffed the two of you in a box!”

The Captain massaged her left hand as she continued thinking. “Kinda dumb, just leaving you alive though.” Bowdaar grunted. “I suppose it could have been for ransom. Or some kinda prisoner exchange?”

“It would be faster to just ask them, Captain. They’re right there for questioning, and the longer you dawdle, the more time the enemy has to entrench themselves,” Risha reminded over comms.

“Where would be the fun in that,” the Captain chuckled, “It’s lots funner puttin’ all the pieces together--”

“They were going to use us as fodder for some kind of experiments,” the droid’s head exclaimed, spoiling the mystery. The caged Wookiee launched into a very long, irritated growl.

An affronted sound coughed its way up the Captain’s throat. “Would’a gotten there eventually,” she muttered, fiddling with the comm in her ear. “I don’t know about bein’ allies… Wha’da ya say, bossman? Bowdaar doesn’t trust ‘em, but I don’t care either way.”

“Whatever they may have done, my contact has a good feeling about them -- thinks they might come in handy. Let's see if she’s right.”

She. Huh. “All right then. You heard the man, Bowdaar.” She turned and headed to the controls as soon as the restraining hand dropped. Bowdaar whuffed unhappily, keeping pace with her, but never letting the other Wookiee out of his sight. “Cheer up, big guy. If it turns out it was a mistake, you can beat him to death with his own droid.” Her companion’s mood seemed to lift considerably.

**Interlude: Lana**

And now I’m a babysitter, Lana thought to herself as she leaned forward in the chair, checking and double checking frequency ranges by hand; unlike Theron, she didn’t have implants to handle such things remotely. It left a bit of a bitter aftertaste in her mouth -- how the promising have fallen! -- but was tempered with an equal measure of curiosity. Who was this asset working with Theron Shan? What sort of person would catch and hold the interest of the Technoplague, scourge of the Dark Council and machinator of several of their deaths.

Aside from being responsible for a depressing number of Imperial setbacks, all Lana had been able to find in her research was this smuggler was a human female whose image had been thoroughly scrubbed from the holonet. She supposed she could add wealthy and well connected to the meager list. It would have taken both to cover one’s tracks with this level of finesse. The Captain must have a preternaturally competent crew. 

‘Get that out’a my face! I don’t care where it came from-- Stars! Stop wavin’ it around. How many times we gotta’ have this discussion, Bowdaar? Severed arms don’t belong anywhere near my person.’

She’d tried tuning non-essential comm chatter out of conscious perception, but there was just something… hypnotic about the running commentary. The picture it painted in Lana’s mind.

‘No, I wouldn’t rather get shot in the back of the head, but it’s gross. It’s unsophisticated.’

‘Careful, Captain. You shouldn’t steal words too big for you to understand.’

‘More like borrowin’, and I do so understand what it means.’

‘Do tell.’

‘The opposite of sophisticated, which is what certain people are always claimin’ they are, until it becomes inconvenient, and they stop pretendin’.’

‘I can’t fault you there, Captain.’

Obviously the team was well into the belly of the beast, if the blueprints Theron had secured were accurate.

‘Is it dead? I think it’s dead. Stay outta the water, big guy; I’ll check. Last thing we need is both of us wanderin’ around lookin’ like drowned rats.’

Blaster fire seemed to be in a lull. Now seemed as good a time as any to make her presence known. “Greetings.”

‘What? Who’re you? Where’s that Shan guy?’

“We haven’t met in person, but your associate asked me to contact you while he’s busy with his scanning equipment.” Lana’s eyes were drawn to the sensor readings filling the screen.

‘You must be the she.’

“Pardon?” Lana’s attention may be divided, but that seemed like a very strange thing to say.

‘Theron said, "lets see if she’s right." You’re the only not-guy I’ve heard on this channel, which makes you the she he meant. Probably.’

‘Woman is the word you’re looking for, Captain.’

‘Hush, Risha. The she-- She knows what I mean.’

Attention split as it was, it took a bit of mental gymnastics for her to follow the circular thought process. Lana wondered if the Captain had suffered a previous head injury. “I suppose I do. Apparently, Theron’s picking up powerful energy readings from Gorima’s laboratory.”

‘More Rakata tech? Man, this place is full of it. Bet Theron thinks that’s bad news.’

Lana rubbed the bridge of her nose with her free hand, feeling more than a little stymied, almost frustrated, though she had no idea why. “We agree this is--”

‘A nasty situation, right? Slice the door, Bowdaar. What do you mean, claws aren’t good for precision work? You come from a technologically advanced species! Risha, can you slice this terminal remotely?’

‘Not without a more direct connection. What did you do with the data spike I programmed for you?’

‘I can’t control where the bad guys point their lightning. Oh fine, let me pry off the terminal…”

The ear splitting whine of rending metal filled the commlink, and Lana winced, seriously considering throwing the earpiece away. Her head was already pounding.

‘Oooor that works too. Thanks, big guy. Bowdaar peeled the door like a kavasa fruit. Where’m I headin’?’

Lana’s lips thinned. “Down the hallway you’re facing and to the left.” She sounded snippish to her own ears; how very unlike her. “Whatever is going on in that lab, please do your best to stop it.”

**Flashpoint: Manaan**

“Wha’da ya mean ‘he had it comin’? What were you thinkin’, blastin’ into the room and killin’ the scientist guy before we even got a chance to question him? You are terrible at reconnaissance,” the captain shouted over her shoulder at the fuming ‘other-Wookiee’. “You’re lucky my data pad had enough space to download their files.” Jakarro continued to ignore her, gesticulating wildly in between bouts of returning blaster fire with the Selkath troops slowly advancing down the hallway behind them.

Bowdaar barked a warning, reaching out to shove the Captain’s head lower as a plasma bolt exploded into the wall, just inches above its mark. She cast her eyes sideways to offer an appreciative nod, but Bowdaar seemed to have his paws full, keeping a wary eye on both their “ally”, and the enemies' movements.

“Rescuin’ you was a waste,” she muttered to herself, dropping to a knee and firing a volley of shots into their pursuers. Several Selkath screamed, one falling lifeless to the ground, a smouldering hole where its eye should have been. “I take the time to set you free, form a limited partnership, and what do you do?”

The brilliant arc of lighting illuminating the air around them was enough to drive the trio back, but not enough to halt the Captain’s diatribe. “Turn tail’n skrog off to Force knows where until all the fightin’s done, and then come in blaster blazin’, and shoot the guy with the information in the head. In what galaxy is that the smart play? And _then_\--”

Jakarro growled darkly, reaching across a bristling Bowdaar to grab the last two grenades from Bowdaar’s primary bandolier and tossed them over their shoulders as they ran, perhaps hoping the resulting explosions would shut the tiny human up. If that’s what he thought, he didn’t know the Captain at all.

“You didn’t bother shootin’ the bad guys until the blast doors were closin’. These pea shooters weren’t gonna get through that transparisteel,” she lamented, wishing, not for the first time, that blaster manufacturers had managed to reverse engineer bowcaster technology.

The large other-Wookiee shouldered his ‘caster and turned on the Captain, roaring profanities, and might well have dis-armed her had Bowdaar not stepped between them.

“I will not shut-up about it; you nearly got us all killed! They were magnetically sealed. Almost all blast doors are magnetically sealed. Everyone knows that,” the Captain retorted. Bowdaar whined in aggravation, obviously tired of the argument. “Almost everyone knows that,” she amended, breaking into a sprint. A deep groaning echoed ominously, and the hallway tilted under their feet, sending the Captain sprawling. “What the--”

“Hello again. I'm afraid that all of the emergency pods have been ejected, and all hatches leading back to the facility entrance are sealed,” Lana whispered into her ear, raising the hairs across the back of the Captain’s neck -- or rather, it came across as a whisper, drowned out by the ticking booms as structural integrity gave way to the sudden introduction of sea water to unknown portions of the facility.

Lights flickered, metal screamed, and the Captain, at a loss for words, struggled unsuccessfully to get to her feet. “We should run,” she murmured, failing a second attempt as the hallway dropped away beneath her. She was momentarily weightless, and then furry hands were wrapped around her midsection, and she was screaming as she sailed through the air, fetching up hard against something in her way. She gasped, laboring to catch hold of the air knocked out of her lungs, turning her head stupidly to follow the sound of a Wookiee, presumably her Wookiee, howling at her to open the Force-damned door.

The Captain blearily popped the panel with her vibroknife and cut wires, peeling off insulation with her teeth as she fumbled to work the splice. Ceiling panels were falling now, adding to the increasing din, sounding more and more like the afterburner tests she’d stuck around for the last time the ship got its annual overhaul.

Lightning crackled, the door whooshed open, and once again she was lifted, but this time, set proper on her feet. The Wookiees were yowling at one another, but she didn’t have time for that nonsense at the moment. A quick-draw later, the hatch dropped shut, the control a sparking ruin.

“Hush you,” the Captain scolded Jakarro, “no one’s gettin’ off this wreck without me.” She shook her head to clear it, lifting a hand to the comm. “Not-Theron-lady --”

“Lana, or Miss Beniko, if you prefer,” not-Theron supplied.

Miss Beniko. Huh. “Lana. Gotcha. How much further to wherever we’re goin’?”

“Not much further, according to the schematics. You appear to be in some sort of cargo storage; receiving is just down that curved hallway, straight ahead.”

A pleasant chill wound its way up her midsection as the Captain surveyed her surroundings. “Cargo storage,” she breathed excitedly, overlapping Bowdaar’s stern barks and Risha’s dread-filled, “Oh no.”

“Don’t go gettin’ distracted, Cap'n,” Corso added quickly. It was a sad state of affairs when Riggs promoted himself to the voice of reason.

Corso's warning went unheeded as the Captain beelined straight into the midst of them. “Easy money,” she murmured, patting a kolto container fondly. “Look here, this batch’s already on a hover pallet. Convenient!”

"Don't be an idiot," Risha began.

"Oh, it’s set in her mind now. Bowdaar, help the Cap'n out." 

Bowdaar ignored Corso's pleas just as the Captain ignored Risha's. He looked at Jakarro. 

The other Wookiee let out a low growl of warning. It wasn't about anything Bowdaar was doing.

"Don’t be such a baby. If the doors won't hold, we'll just have to hurry faster, won't we?" the Captain told them. She was sure the expression on Jakarro’s face was priceless at this moment, but she hadn’t the attention to spare. “And there we go!”

The pallet jolted ahead, Kolto canisters jostling unsteadily, and the Captain hurriedly adjusted the controls. She turned to Bowdaar, grinning. “See? I told ya, everythin’s gonna be fine.” From the other side of the room, the din at the door ceased with a terrific explosion and the water level sloshed to the top of her boots. “So long as the two of you cover our escape.”

Bowdaar yowled in frustration. Jakarro resisted the impulse to turn his bowcaster on the tiny, insulting human, and the three of them jogged behind the recklessly speeding pallet.

“I don’t mean to bother,” the disembodied droid head interjected from somewhere around Jakarro’s armpit, “but you can’t be serious. The odds of us evading capture or death at this rate--”

The chorus of “no’s” was deafening; Bowdaar, Risha and Corso all silenced C2-D4 at the same moment, Risha’s voice being the sternest. “Never tell her the odds,” Corso whispered.

“It just makes her more stubborn,” Risha finished, and Bowdaar’s barking cachinnation almost drown out the hail of blaster-fire going on around them.

“Hello again. Your progress seems a bit slow; is there anything I can do to assist,” Lana queried, and the Captain smiled. 

“Nice to see you’re still with us, Lana.” She was taking a liking to this disembodied Imperial, whomever she might be. Something about the voice maybe? Imperial accents were always so _exotic._

“I’m sure.” There was a slight pause before Lana continued. “Fortunately, I…”

“Kinda busy steerin’ here, but it’s great you found us a way out. See guys? All of you doubtin’ your Captain -- Lana here wouldn’t lead us astray, would you Lana? Course not. It’s ummm, some kinda submersible right?”

The pause was more noticeable this time, and when their guide spoke, it sounded strained. “The autopilot should have it docked at a hatch near your location shortly. Please hurry.”

Concussive grenades rocked the hallway, which tilted noticeably to the right, and water rolled against the Captain’s thighs. She cast a worried glance at the fracturing transparisteel, offing a breathtaking view of the watery grave awaiting them on the other side. “Say that again,” she muttered to herself.

“I’m sorry? Which part,” Lana inquired. Crisp, the Captain decided. More like terse, she corrected herself.

“Please hurry,” the Captain teased, smirking at the silence which followed.

Plasma blossomed in front as well, as security droids clattered into view, and Bowdaar shifted his attention to the enemy bearing down in front of them.

“We don’t have time for this,” the Captain grumbled, grabbing a pulse grenade from Bowdaar’s bandolier, and doing a rolling tumble between the droids, taking a few shots to get their attention, and leading them further up the corridor.

“Well, that was a thing,” C2-D4 commented, and the Wookiees looked at one another in silence before returning fire with their pursuers.

“Little singed, but none the worse for wear,” the Captain remarked, hard at work slicing the door barring their path when the trio rejoined her. “I’ll never be as good at this as you, big guy, but I think I’m gettin’ the hang of it.” A secondary blast door slammed into place and she blinked at it stupidly for a moment. “Uhhhhhh.”

Bowdaar growled in irritation, shouldering the Captain out of the way, and she knelt down beside Jakarro, taking shots at any Selkath head that popped into view. Closer, they were definitely getting closer. Plasma scorched one of the Kolto canisters. Much closer.

“How’s that door comin’,” the Captain whispered and it likely would have been the last she ever spoke if she hadn’t gotten a cramp as she was standing , and taken just that fraction longer to put her head in the path of the blade. Bowdaar howled in alarm.

The blade in question buried itself in the metal archway as cleanly as ripe muja fruit. Somehow attached to the forearm -- forearms, she corrected, there were two blades -- of the cyborg barring the doorway, the Captain stared, wondering what they’d done to the poor Selkath to get him so _big_.

“Their cyborg champion is after you. I can sense its power from here... it's considerable,” a voice whispered in her ear, and the Captain nodded dumbly.

The weapon pulled free with little visible effort. “Uh huh, you got that right. This hallway’s a straight shot, it doesn’t branch off or meander… Am I right in assumin’ where we need to get to,” the Captain trailed off, feeling a chill prickle her flesh.

“On the far side of the room, I’m afraid.” It was just the two of them in this moment, she and Lana, and the Imperial’s voice traveled from a great distance, through a cacophony of brilliant plasma bursts, the sounds of one Wookiee howling for her to push forward, and the other to fall back, the tic tic tic of her thumb nervously fiddling with the safely on her blaster, and the low, almost comforting hum of the hover pallet, patiently waiting for instructions.

“Time is short,” Lana whispered. Plenty of time, the Captain thought. If I don’t die, right here, why there’d even be time to get to know the person behind that voice. “Be merciless.”

That snapped her out of it. The Captain? Merciless? Her nose wrinkled at the phrase. “What a silly thing to say.” She steered the pallet into the room, and the cyborg gave way. “Everyone inside,” the Captain ordered, and the Wookiees followed her through the door. “Bowdaar! Give me your bandolier.”

Bowdaar growled a refusal, clasping a paw around his beloved arsenal. “Don’t give me that. It was a great plan before, and it’s got to work sometime. Now’s as good a time as any.”

One detonator armed, the rest jingling like bells as she tossed the lot far down the hallway, and blasted the door panel, releasing both door and blast door to bar their path. “If the explosion doesn’t get ‘em, the water will.”

And then the Captain noticed the Selkath had returned the favor. Her eyes widened in horror, her mouth making an ‘O’ of disbelief a moment before the magnetic explosive blew the entire hijacked Kolto shipment, pallet and all, to shrapnel and a fountain of life-giving goo.

“My Kolto,” the Captain wailed, nearly, but not quite oblivious to the fact that the three of them, four if one counted D4, bore a striking resemblance to the oozy shamblers haunting Dagobah’s southernmost swamps.

“My dreams of fortune and glory,” she continued lamenting, ducking the cyborg’s pressing attacks.

“I’ve no idea why you’re so upset, Captain,” Risha commented, “it’s not like you need the money.”

“Or the glory, Cap'n,” Corso added. “Whole galaxy knows who ya are.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the Captain breathed, ducking low and trying to slice her way through the tendons behind the cyborg’s knees, but the darn things kept knitting themselves almost as fast as she severed them. “Still, it would have been so fine. Several lifetimes’ supply of Kolto, just taking up space in the cargo hold. Manaan’s damn stingy with their heal-juice. Could have lived off the braggin’ rights alone.”

“As charming as this banter is, you’re bound for a watery grave if you don’t watch yourself,” Lana reminded everyone. And that was true; though she hadn’t heard the explosion outside the door because of the one in the room, water was seeping under the door at an alarming rate, and the lights which had been fading and flickering died, plunging the room into darkness.

Lights from the bowcasters seemed very bright in gloom, but allowed the trio to battle on, chipping away at the invincible cyborg: slicing, thrusting, crushing.

The Captain armed sweat out of her eyes. “This’s not goin’ well, Lana -- cyborg heals faster than we can dish out the pain.”

“Have faith in your supremacy. Show it you will not back down!” There was a pause, and then a softer, more emphatic tone. “But do hurry. I calculate the facility will fall below crush depth in a little over three minutes.”

“No pressure.” The Captain laughed at her own joke. “Get it? No pressure, because we’re all going to be crushed to pulp.”

The battle wore on. A minute passed, and then plasma from the heating system started venting, blinding patches of light appearing and disappearing randomly around the room as they struggled to keep from getting bisected by the cyborg’s blades.

Jakarro screamed as he stepped into a vent, alive only by the grace of the Kolto caking him from head to toe. The cyborg didn’t fare as well, jittering and hissing, flailing, as the plasma covered him in living flame.

Idea. Covered in Kolto equals higher potential of living through deliberately standing in one of those plasma vents. If they took turns on who was the marshmallow -- they might just pull this thing off. The Captain explained her idea as best she could, running from the cyborg, ducking bladed swings. She ran and fired and cajoled the Wookiees all at the same time. She was a master of multitasking.

“Keep going! You can do this,” Lana whispered, and the shot, intended for the cyborg’s knee, missed. The cyborg kicked and the Captain sailed into the wall, struggling for breath -- something broke that time, she could feel it.

“It's on the offensive! Steel yourselves.”

“Not,” the Captain continued gasping for breath, “not helping, Lana. We’re all trying to concentrate, and not die in this stuffy coffin down here, so maybe could you be quiet?”

And quiet their guide was, which left the Captain to ponder which sort of silence, “Jakarro! Your turn -- get that Nerf-herder under the vent,” the sort of silence where one appreciates the gesture, as she was now? Or the sort of silence where one waits, seething, making plans, “Your turn, big guy, let’s end this fracas,” waiting for just the right time to pull out fully-loaded resentment, and level one’s opponent?

The Captain stepped into the unimaginable heat, heat so hot it felt like her bones were baking from the inside out, and mostly bit back the scream as bowcasters rang and the vibro-blade she wielded with surgical precision struck home again-again-again before turning to slag in her palm. The Captain fell to one knee, and then to her side, too full of weary-pain to even move. The vent dissipated, moving on, she lived.

“I take it back,” the Captain croaked. “Now I can’t concentrate at all -- it’s too quiet.” It was only a little lie, hardly dirty at all, which meant almost white, and white lies were mostly okay with friends.

“Insufferable,” Lana responded, almost too softly to hear.

The Captain smiled, enjoying even that retort -- if she were put off by surly comments she would have pushed Risha out of an airlock years ago. “I think we’re winning.”

There was a deep breath taken on the other end of the com, and an equally slow exhale. “Keep going! You can do this.” _Thanks, Lana_, the Captain thought. 

They could, and they did. Two plasma baths each for Bowdaar and Jakarro, and the Captain would have ventured a second herself, though she had her doubts she’d survive -- Kolto evaporated from fur more slowly than from skin, it seemed -- but it was unnecessary. The cyborg fell, nothing in that moment but a half melted mass of metal and bone, and the floor began warping as the struts holding the facility buckled and caved.

Bowdaar fared better than Jakarro, who was missing large patches of fur, and covered with nasty plasma burns. The Captain considered herself lucky to alive.

“You've done it. Excellent work. Now let's get you back to the surface.”

The Captain motioned with her head for Bowdaar to open an actual holo-com, and secure whatever docking the submersible required, opting to offer her shoulder to Jakarro help him stand. He glanced at her warily, but accepted the assistance.

To say the Captain was looking forward to ‘meeting’ their guide and rescuer in a more face to face way was a bit close to home, but whatever she’d envisioned, whatever she’d expected fell apart into a million drifting milkweed puffs, leaving her very confused. Not precisely disappointed -- far from it if the tell-tale stretto of her pulse gave any indication -- but something akin to acknowledgement of irrevocable change.

“Apologies but the remote docking procedure isn't quite finished,” the figure in the holo spoke in an off-hand, almost distracted tone. Dressed in battle-robes of green and grey, with pale, luminescent hair, she was young, that was the Captain’s first impression. Or she appeared more youthful than she actually was; that was often the way they seemed, these --

"You're a Sith," the Captain breathed, the words catching in her throat. No mistaking those eyes; arresting, captiving, deadly.

“Figured that out on your own, did you?” The figure which was obviously Lana sounded amused, and the Captain found herself unaccountably off-kilter, almost chagrined as heat spread across her face. “Yes, I am. But not your enemy. Not today. Now, are you still interested in a ride back, or would you prefer to swim?”

“Did she say…”

“Tell me she didn’t say…”

“Oh, Cap'n, not again!”

Just whispers in her ear; the Captain turned them out. “I think I can safely speak for everyone here when I say we’d all humbly like a ride.”

Bowdaar made a plaintive sound of disbelief, and Jakarro’s eyes bulged -- he’d obviously never been humble a day in his life.

“I do appreciate a pragmatic mind.”

Jakarro howled something remarkably void of profanity. Perhaps he _had_ been humble a day in his life. This day. The Captain refrained from breaking into peals of laughter by the thinnest margin of willpower. Mostly because she wasn’t sure how Lana would interpret it -- would she assume assume the Captain was laughing at the Sith’s expense -- and with the pressure in her ears making them pop every few seconds, and a nose-bleed threatening itself any moment, she’d really prefer not to antagonize the one person who could get them all safely out of here.

“...and there we are. Your transportation is ready - safe travels.”

**Epilogue: Submersible**

The ride to the surface was a quiet, somber affair. Or rather, it could have been. Should have been even. The quiet time she needed to reflect on matching the voice in her ear to the _young?_ woman the Captain’d spoken with on the holo-com. Obviously one and the same, but they seemed so… disparate to one another. And yet not.

But… no. That is not how their ascent went at all, and try though she might, it was impossible to tune out the topic of conversation and concentrate on more important things, as she should, because _she_ was the topic.

“I don’t see what all the hullaballoo’s about, and I _don’t_ understand why it’s any of your all’s business. We haven’t even met yet, for Force’s sake -- and you’re all already making this into a whole mess,” the Captain muttered sulkily.

“We’re not tryin’ to be rude, Cap'n--”

“And yet you _are_ Corso Riggs.” There, now he’d know, they’d all know, she was serious. She never used surnames unless she was cross.

“It’s just that after last time--”

“With that Vaverone Zare woman,” Risha clarified, as if it needed clarification. The Captain’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared.

“What happened with Zare was a tragedy, plain and simple. Now, I know, I know some of you won’t agree on that point, and that’s fine. Everybody’s supposed to have their own opinions -- so long as they can keep it to themselves,” she added sternly. For all the good it would do.

“You don’t still blame the Jedi, do you,” Risha scoffed and the Captain sniffed as quietly as she could.

“Of course not -- the Jedi was doing her duty. And I don’t blame the Jedi. I never _blamed_ the Jedi. It’s just that the whole situation could have been avoided if everyone had put their holier-than-thou ideals in their pockets long enough to hear each other out. And even -- I know you were going to say something to prove me wrong, Risha, so I acknowledge while saying shush -- even if I’m this wild, romantic idealist, and there was no compromise to be made, it was dirty to stab someone, under someone else's arm, while that someone else was makin’ her grand appeal.”

“A grand appeal you made with your mouth,” Risha stated in a flat tone.

The Captain flushed, turning her back on the two Wookiees, one of which was so embarrassed for her he’d taken to buffing the disembodied head of the droid strapped to his chest. “That’s how most appeals are made, Risha,” she hissed quietly.

“More specifically with your lips, against her lips. Your grand appeal to the Sith was to kiss her, and you don’t find anything wrong with that. That Jedi saved your life, she was saving you from--”

“I swear Risha,” the Captain growled, and there was actual menace in the tone, actual threat of violence, which was beyond rare, “if you finish that sentence you won’t be able to take it back.”

The silence overflowed with angry breathing, which slowed, and finally calmed as the break in conversation relaxed a bit of the tension. “It was a dirty way to kill someone, when they’re all distracted in a personal way with someone else. It was a tragedy, and that’s my last words on the topic.”

“I concede your point, Captain,” Risha murmured, and, for once, she actually sounded regretful.

After a shorter pause, Corso cleared his throat and tried again. “I think what Risha was tryin’ to say was, we’re just concerned for you.”

“Your concern is suffocating. And unwarranted,” the Captain stated coldly.

“Unwarranted? Bowdaar, this Sith, was she attractive?” Risha asked, and the Captain gawped, first at the shuttle wall and then towards Bowdaar, who returned her stare with calm indifference. He seemed to consider the question, and then barked a series of answers.

“All us furless people seem unnatural, huh,” the Captain smirked in spite of herself, “Guess that would make you a poor judge of furless folk's beauty.”

Bowdaar nodded and chuffed his agreement, folding furry arms across his chest as he leaned back against the bulkhead.

“So, Captain, was this Sith attractive?” Risha pressed, and the Captain’s scowl returned.

“Not something I’m going to discuss with you. With _any_ of you,” the Captain stated forcefully.

“Oh, Cap'n,” Corso sighed.

“Mark my words -- we’re doomed,” Risha affirmed.

And for only the third time in their entire life-bonded partnership, Bowdaar chuckled to himself.


End file.
